Holes in the Prairie

The night I watched you dance alone
the floor between us sank into a valley
of certain and impassible hours.
Your hands, as they patted the darkness so near,
flew far beyond my grasp,
even if I had stood and danced
we would not have been dancing together.

As children we ran through woods unafraid
of pathlessness,
with leaves like feathers against our faces.
We could not be lost, not in summer,
branches were made to hold us.
We must be as children again, soap-clean,
not touching,
and while I want you sleeping beside me
I do not want
to wake beside you naked anymore.

There are no songs of this particular regret,
of this one lonesomeness,
the knowing that our friends
must only be our friends.
Just as crows must eat the dead.

And prairies must be burned to bloom.

Things must be as they are.
We must walk in the dark,
I must watch you dance,
We must be as we have been,
ourselves, apart.
The certainty of this return
is a shudder of relief.